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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348283">Stowaway</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b'>FandomN00b</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Future Trill in Thedas, Pre-Dragon Age II, season 2ish? DS9, silly crossover, tumblr prompt that spun out into a whole mess, warp core breaches are crazy man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:22:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Jadzia remembers is being in the engineering bay of the USS Defiant, trying to prevent a warp core breach. She wakes up disoriented in the hull of a pirate ship in a world where her understanding of science and technology and the very nature of the universe is challenged by the notion of 'magic.'</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stowaway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by a half-serious prompt from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eranehn/works">Eranehn</a> (Jadzia Dax had a warp core breach near a multiphasic star and ended up on the open decks of Siren's Call), some random late-night discussions, thirst for both Isabela and Jadzia, and my severe writer's block.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The salty, fishy stench hits Jadzia first, shocking her olfactory system awake before she even realizes that she’s no longer in the engineering bay of the <em>Defiant</em>. Her eyes open begrudgingly, almost fearful of locating the source of such an offensive odor -- worse than anything she ever had to endure in all of Curzon’s dealings with the Klingons, even worse than congealed room temperature Cardassian tojal with yamok sauce -- but all she sees is darkness.</p><p>She taps her combadge. </p><p>She hears nothing but the ringing in her own ears.</p><p>Her eyes finally start to adjust, playing an infuriatingly slow game of catch-up with the unwelcome acuteness in her sense of smell. She can just barely make out trace amounts of light swimming blurrily above her, but it’s not enough to make any kind of sense of her surroundings.</p><p>She tries to sit up, but everything is wobbly, she realizes, and there’s a sharp shooting pain behind her eyes whenever she tries to move or look or do much of anything. She manages to reach a hand up to her temple, tracing a trail of dried blood to a cut there. It stings when she touches it, but it’s mostly superficial and mostly done bleeding, nothing a dermal regenerator can’t handle, anyway. She moves her fingers gingerly toward the back of her head. “BaQa'!” she hisses as she touches the large tender lump she finds there...this one might be a bit trickier to deal with. But it’s not the first time she’s been concussed. And it probably won’t be the last.</p><p>She takes a deep breath through her nose and tries to focus through the pain, the sharpness of it renewed with every fresh whiff, every sound, every attempt to look or move or think.</p><p>In seven lifetimes, she’s endured far worse. In <em>this</em> lifetime, alone. <em>Figure it out, Old Man</em>! </p><p>Why she suddenly hears <em>Sisko</em> berating her at a time like this is something she can ponder later. But for now...she takes another deep breath, focusing on her surroundings this time instead of her own internal disorientation.</p><p>There are large wooden barrels all around her. They certainly don’t look airtight, and she fears that at least some of the odor is coming from them. Like it could be on purpose. Some kind of ancient fermentation process preserved for the sake of tradition or ritual, maybe. That might explain why <em>everything</em> here seems to be made out of wood. Perhaps this room has a ceremonial purpose? It doesn’t explain how she got here, or even where ‘here’ is, but it’s a theory at least. And she’s a scientist. <em>Right</em>?</p><p>She shrugs, gathering her resolve to stand up and investigate, even though her balance is still something to be desired. It doesn’t help that this smelly, dark, wooden room she’s in seems to be...swaying? It’s an odd sensation, probably just another symptom of her head injury.</p><p>But she <em>has</em> felt it before, hasn’t she? At least <em>part</em> of her has. Prior to being joined, Torias had taken up sailing as a hobby, much to Nilani’s chagrin. He managed to go sailing exactly once as Dax, and his voyage had been cut short, because <em>Tobin</em> had gotten seasick…Tobin, who’s fretting again now. Tobin, who needs to be <em>quiet</em>.</p><p>The full memory comes flooding back suddenly, viscerally...<em>violently</em>. She’s barely just managed to stand before she’s doubled-over, retching, and the contents of her stomach hits the wooden floor below her with a sickening splash. She can feel the liquid sliding and pooling around her boots with the gentle, nauseating rocking motion of the ship, but Curzon had an iron stomach, and Jadzia has no reason to believe <em>she</em> gets sea-sick, so she banishes Tobin to the back of her consciousness, and she hopes her theory about this room having some ritual significance proves wrong, because she, <em>Jadzia</em>, has never been very good at apologies.</p><p>She taps her combadge again, remembering as she does it that it’s not working.</p><p>Still nothing. Not even an error signal telling her she’s out of range. </p><p>“Virtually indestructible, and they won’t run out of power for at least a century under normal use…” she mutters to herself, reciting what the Starfleet Engineering folks had promised when they switched from rechargeable units to the current power cells. She knew she was overdue for an upgrade, but it hasn’t been <em>that</em> long since Curzon had gotten this new one, has it? She’ll have to have Miles take a look at it when she gets back.</p><p>Back. Back to where? Back <em>from</em> where? She tries to avoid the leaky barrels in the dark as she carefully maneuvers her way around the long, narrow room, balance and coordination slowly returning with every toe stub and banged knee. There’s more light streaming down on the other side, but trying to focus on it only seems to make things worse, so she can only hope it’s a doorway or a stairwell or <em>something</em> she can work with.</p><p>“Who’s down there making all that noise?” </p><p>She hears a voice above her and footsteps. Two sets, assuming they belong to bipedal humanoids, though they are close enough together with a complementary familiarity to them that she can't be certain. She freezes, but hears them stomp past overhead nevertheless, heading in the same direction she is.</p><p>“I didn’t hear anything.” A second voice...lower, but with a tremulous quality betraying its owner’s attempt at disinterest.</p><p>“Bet one of those other refugees is sampling some of the haul…or trying to take some to sell themselves. Not a bad idea, actually...”</p><p>“Captain says it isn’t even ready yet. Still needs a few more months in the sun to <em>really</em> ripen…”</p><p>Jadzia feels her stomach lurch again, but at least it's completely empty now, and she manages to breathe through Tobin’s overly-sensitive gag reflex this time.</p><p>“Rats, then?”</p><p>“Feel free to go investigate yourself. Bilge rats give me the creeps!”</p><p>“You’re a fucking Raider now! Grow a pair, will ya?”</p><p>“Have you seen the size of <em>their</em> bollocks?”</p><p>The owner of the first voice is laughing now. “What is <em>wrong</em> with you?”</p><p>“Nothing! Heard a Warden once say they spread the Blight!”</p><p>“No <em>real</em> Warden ever said that…”</p><p>“Yeah! I heard it from one of ‘em at Ostagar!”</p><p>“<em>Now</em> who’s talking bollocks?”</p><p>Jadzia has to work hard to stifle her own chuckle at this. She isn’t sure what the Blight is (though she can surmise it is some sort of disease or virus), or Wardens, or Ostagar, but she recognizes and appreciates the spirit of the exchange. It almost reminds her of Odo and Quark bickering back on <em>Deep Space Nine</em>.</p><p>“Are you going to check down below or what? <em>You’re</em> the one hearing things. I’ll cover your ass, but you gotta go first. And if it’s rats...”</p><p>“Yeah, fine. I’ll be sure to neuter ‘em all just for you, baby brother.” </p><p>Ok, so maybe not <em>quite</em> like Odo and Quark. She hears them both descending the stairs, and she has half a mind to try and hide behind one of the barrels, but she’s not sure she can keep Tobin’s sea-sickness under control in such close proximity to its contents. So she decides to take her chances making contact, walking a few more steps toward the light of the stairwell so as not to take anyone by surprise.</p><p>A human, a female, she presumes, in primitive leather armor, comes into view first at the bottom of the stairs, about ten feet away from her, peering into the darkness. </p><p>“...and who are <em>you</em> supposed to be?” </p><p>She crosses her arms in front of her and cocks one hip to the side, just enough so that Jadzia can see she has two daggers slung behind her back, but she doesn’t look particularly eager to use them.</p><p>“Is it rats?”</p><p>“No, you dumb idiot…” she hisses back over her shoulder without taking her eyes off of Jadzia. “It’s one of those weird tattooed elves, I think?” </p><p>“Are you <em>sure</em> it’s not a rat?” </p><p>The owner of the second set of footsteps, a male human, she thinks, finally peeks out from behind her, his large frame dwarfing the person in front of him. "Her ears aren't pointy, though, Sis."</p><p>“Or maybe you’re Qunari? I don’t see any horns, but that big guy in Lothering didn’t have any, either, and you’re awfully tall...”</p><p>Jadzia isn’t sure what to make of the two people leering at her, either, but they don’t seem to pose an immediate threat. The one with the daggers looks more intrigued than alarmed, and the other one isn’t even carrying a weapon. “I am a Federation Science Officer, currently serving aboard the USS <em>Defiant</em>.”</p><p>“An Officer, eh?” The first one smirks.</p><p>“What’s an Officer doing all the way down here?” the second one asks. “You should be at least three decks up.”</p><p>“Funny-sounding name for a ship, too…not part of the Armada, I take it?”</p><p>Jadzia purses her lips impatiently. Her head is still throbbing. “There appears to have been some kind of...accident.” This is putting it mildly, she thinks. “Can you tell me which star system we’re in?”</p><p>“<em>Star</em> system? I don’t believe in that Tevinter mumbo jumbo. Mum said I was born under a rising Draconis but I sure as shit can’t turn into a dragon…”</p><p>The first one eyes him with annoyance before turning back to Jadzia. “You mean to ask the date?”</p><p>"Sure…and the year, too, <em>if</em> you don't mind."</p><p>"By Chantry reckoning, it's 9:30...and it's the fifth of Solace."</p><p>“I don’t suppose you could convert that for me? Into something more...<em>universal</em>?”</p><p>“Oh shit! You <em>are</em> a ‘Vint?”</p><p>“No!” She puts her hands up defensively, assuming <em>‘Vint</em> is probably not a good thing to be, based on his tone. “No...I just...my <em>people</em>...the, er, what did you call us? With the, uh, horns?”</p><p>“Qunari? Are you a spy?!” He turns back to the other one. “I <em>told</em> you they have spies everywhere!”</p><p>She<em> looks</em> unimpressed by this, but Jadzia notices as she shifts her weight to the other hip.</p><p>“No, not Qunari! The other thing…”</p><p>“Elf?”</p><p>“Yes! That! That is what <em>you</em> call my people, but we have a different word. And we use a different calendar. I am part of an isolated group, known for our unique height and ears and markings.”</p><p>He eyes her suspiciously, and the other one -- the smarter one, Jadzia has decided -- just grins, her teeth flashing in what little light there is down here. It’s not particularly reassuring, but she has yet to reach for her blades.</p><p>“Sure,” she says, and the worrying grin vanishes. "Fine, yeah, whatever."</p><p>Jadzia realizes she’s been holding her breath. It’s been awhile since she’s had the proper training for this kind of thing. Surviving Cardassian torture and manipulation is an entirely different skill set, one that involves clinging relentlessly to your own identity, not making up an entirely new one. </p><p>“‘Vint, Qunari, Elf, or <em>otherwise</em>, the Captain’s the one you’ve gotta convince you weren’t trying to steal from her. Come on. You can work on your story on the way. Try it out on my idiot of a brother who believes the Blight is carried in the testicles of rodents.”</p><p>“Hey!”</p><p>Jadzia ducks her head and allows herself a quiet snort of amusement, and the woman with the daggers nods appreciatively.</p>
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